


A Promise

by Sulla



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-28
Updated: 2010-12-28
Packaged: 2017-10-14 04:58:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulla/pseuds/Sulla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Title:</b> A Promise<br/><b>Author:</b><br/><b>Rating:</b> R/NC-17<br/><b>Fandom:</b> Sherlock<br/><b>Characters/Pairings:</b> Sherlock/John<br/><b>Disclaimer</b>:  I don't own these characters, nor do I make money from this story.<br/><b>Warnings:</b> Non-graphic hard drug use, slash (m/m), graphic sex<br/><b>A/N</b>:  In response to <a href="http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/4777.html?thread=14670761#t14670761">this prompt</a> on the kinkmeme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Promise

Sherlock had been without an active case for nearly 3 weeks when it happened. John climbed up the stairs into the flat, and the back of his neck was prickling with the feeling that something was wrong. It only took him a moment to find the source of his unease.

Sherlock was standing by the bookshelves... cleaning.

John had to reiterate the key information to his own startled mind.

 _Sherlock_ was _cleaning_.

His eyes followed his flatmate around as the man bounced here and there, dusting this and straightening that, but when John's eyes fell on the detritus littering the side table by Sherlock's usual chair, they narrowed, and his amusement was replaced by hot fury.

John marched directly up to Sherlock, reached up to catch his chin, straighted the man's head and forced him to make eye contact. Flushed cheeks, pupils blown, teeth grinding ever so slightly... oh yes, John knew the effects of a powerful stimulant when he saw them.

"Pah." John expelled a great breath of air in disgust. "What is it you're on, Sherlock? Coke? Meth?"

Sherlock jerked his head away from John's hand. "Leave me be, John. It's none of your concern." The man spun on his heels, going back to the table in question, and nimbly picked up the paraphrenalia of hard-core drug use and tucked them away into a leather case which John had noted before, but never looked inside. He'd always had respect for his lover's belongings and his privacy, and now he was wondering if he had misplaced that trust.

"I thought you said this sort of behaviour was in the past Sherlock," started John.

Sherlock's head jerked up at the comment. "Is is. It was. It...is."

"Doesn't look like that to me."

"Well, we both know that your observational skills border on nil," retorted Sherlock with a short sharp exhalation of breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan.

"Don't laugh this off, Sherlock."

Sherlock's attention had shifted to his inside left elbow, where he picked at a freshly made pin-prick scab.

"And don't pick at that," ordered John. "You'll give yourself an infection."

Sherlock ignored him.

"You can't be doing this, Sherlock."

"Hmm." He continued to pick at his skin, this time focusing on some tiny irregular raised bumps on the back of his arm, leaving visible red marks in his wake.

"Sherlock? Are you listening to me?"

"Hmm." Sherlock edged in front of a mirror John had recently hung in the hallway and was now picking at his face, looking for clogged pores and inflamed skin and god knew what else.

John was at a loss as to what to do. This had to be nipped in the bud before it became a serious problem - or more than it was already, at least. He took a big, silent breath to himself, and spoke.

"Mycroft or Lestrade?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock barely responded, huge dark eyes scouring his own face for imperfections, bouncing foot to foot before the mirror.

"I said, Mycroft or Lestrade? Who should I report this behavior to?"

Sherlock went stock-still. "What on earth are you on about, John?" he said, without turning around.

"Your drug use. I have only to decide who to contact about this situation: your brother Mycroft, or Detective Inspector Lestrade."

By this time Sherlock had whirled around, staring with great dark grey eyes at his lover. "Don't be ridiculous," he retorted, "there is no need to bother either of them. I am an adult, and can make my own choices in life. I am not a child to be bullied or tattled upon."

John's expression became even more grave. "I will not tolerate the use of illegal drugs in my own home, Sherlock. And beyond that, I will not tolerate drug use by my lover," John added grimly. "If you won't listen to me, I must seek outside help."

The two men stared at each other, each wondering what it would take to get the other man to cease and desist.

After several long moments, with Sherlock shifting his weight back and forth from one foot to the other, and John stock still, the detective said, "You can't be serious."

"I'm deadly serious."

Another silent, tense moment.

"John, don't do that. Please. I'll give you anything you want... how about if I give you a blowjob?"  
John spluttered in surprise, "...what?"

Sherlock grinned slightly, eyes cast down, and began to advance towards where John was seated. "You heard me."

"Sherlock, no. You're not going to distract me from this." The detective came to kneel at John's feet. "No. This is extremely serious. Get up."

With a tiny smirk gracing his lips Sherlock refused, and began to stroke his lover's denim-clad thighs. John groaned quietly and rubbed his tired eyes. Why... why did every serious conversation between he and Sherlock somehow turn into sex? Every single time? It was a mystery to John; he would walk into the flat absolutely determined to tackle one of the many issues that arose between the two men, and literally within minutes one or the other of them would invariably be naked, working their way blissfully towards orgasm.

This time, irregardless of the masterfullness of his manipulation, Sherlock was being careful to keep his eyes cast aside and his head down. "Please," he asked, "please keep this between us. I don't want anything to disturb our life together, John. Please, please don't tell? I'll do anything you want..."

The softly whispering voice went on and on, every syllable contributing to the erection growing swiftly in John's trousers. Sherlock slipped his tongue out and traced the line of John's penis along the inside of this thigh, stopping here and there to attach his whole mouth the the member, sucking hard on the fabric, alternating with blowing hot air on it and making the fabric damp with his saliva. John was hard and throbbing within seconds.

"You keep this," Sherlock whispered, opening the button and fly to John's trouser oh so slowly and carefully, "...a secret, and," he clucked to John while pushing down on the fabric, wordlessly asking John to lift up his hips so he could ease the trousers and pants down his thighs, "...not only will I not do coke again," he blew hot air on John's dark red cock, and dipped his tongue into the welling pool of pre-ejaculate at the tip, "...but I will give you the orgasm of your life."

John could only moan in response. This sounded like a very good deal to him. But wait... "Sherlock... Sherlock..." he said, eventually having to pull the detective's head up to look him eye to hugely dilated eye, "I will... I will let it go this time - don't you dare look triumphant at me!"

Sherlock quickly cast his eyes down again.

"...as I said I will let it go this time, but if it ever happens again, your brother will be informed immediately, and I will decide then whether or not to go to the police. I can't live with another addict, Sherlock, not after Harry. Not after the poor bastards recovering from Afganistan. I just can't do it."

Sherlock had the good grace (or the wiliness) to look chastened, and dipped his head down to place a kiss on the head of John's cock. John pushed back the black curls from Sherlock's face, tucking them behind the detective's ears, the better for him to see that distinctive face. "Promise me, Sherlock. Promise you won't shoot up again. That you won't used illegal drugs again."

After laping twice more at the head of John's cock, circling his tongue around the head and slipping his tongue under the receded foreskin, Sherlock finally raised his head and locked eyes with John. "I promise."  
At this, John sighed expansively and let himself sink back into the cushions of the armchair, panting slightly as Sherlock took him deeply into his throat, the head battering at the back of the detective's mouth. John's hands continued to stroke Sherlock's soft curls, thrusting upwards gently into his lover's throat, which swallowed convulsively around the head of his cock.

"Sherlock--" The man in his lap hummed and shook his head back and forth, forcing John's cockhead deeper into his gullet. Long strings of saliva fell from his mouth, some attached to the base of his cock, some dripping down his chin. John was closer than he would have thought possible this soon after the commencement of activity. "Sherlock..."

The detective showed no signs of letting up. He bobbed up and down on John's dick, and John met him at each dip, thrusting up in time with him, pushing gently on the back of Sherlock's head with his hands, urging him to take him deeper and deeper into his mouth. No one deep-throated like Sherlock, John crooned to himself mentally, no one at all. At the final, crucial moment, John gasped out incoherently as his spilled his semen directly down his lover's throat. The detective eased up on the shaft in his mouth, coughing a little as he tried to swallow down most of the come his lover had produced for him.. When he looked up, John felt a little thrill to see a long trail of come had dripped down his chin from where he couldn't keep it all inside.

Yes, John thought, he would keep the secret, this time at least.


End file.
